“What was he doing here?”
“Trying to get more information about CARE. He’s building it into a full feature.” The lie is effortless. If nothing else, hiding has made me slippery, adept at lying and quick on my feet. Sometimes it unsettles me, but today I am thankful. As the words leave my mouth, I realize I’ve just made the decision not to tell Henry about finding my mother. It is unplanned.
Henry scrutinizes me, his eyes narrow. “Does it occur to you that Cash was there when you almost got run over by a car. And he was here today, when the apartment was broken into. Does this strike you as odd?”
“No. It doesn’t,” I snap. He says nothing back.
We’re locked in a staring contest, he and I. He’s not asked me about my “girl at the gym” comment, and I can’t figure out why.
His shoulders slump and he cocks his head. “Zo, please. Let’s stop attacking each other. I’m sorry for being out of touch today. Are you okay? How did all this happen? You didn’t see anyone, did you?”
He reaches over and thumbs my cheek. His hand feels warm, inviting. I close my eyes, try to forget the spandex girl, his rage at seeing Cash, his reaction to me, his almost-palpable hatred. I want to forget it, but I can’t.
“Henry, you haven’t even asked until right now if I’m okay. Where the hell have you been?”
“I’m sorry, Zoe.” He pulls me into an embrace and I breathe in his fresh-laundry, lemony Henry-ness and I remember that I love him. “I’ve been in a lockdown meeting, no one in, no one out. Those things are brutal. We were in there for almost four hours.”
I look at the clock. It is close to four. It was possible. With very tight timing. I don’t know what to think.
“Can you call Penny? See if she can get a crew in here to clean up? I can’t do this, Henry.” I can do it, of course. When I lived in Hoboken I cleaned a rich couple’s house every week. I’m not opposed to housework—in some cases, I revel in it. I just don’t want to. Let Henry spend his money, it comes so easily to him. I wonder if Henry knows I used to be a housekeeper. I wonder if he remembers Evelyn was basically a version of Penny. I can’t remember what I’ve told him.
“Of course. Of course. God, what if you had come home early?” He pulls me against his chest. “This is the second time in a week I could have lost you.”
“I’m sure that’s overstating it.” I turn my face to the side and return his hug, one-armed. Halfhearted.
“Let’s go away. We can ride to Pennsylvania tomorrow. Get out of town, I’ll call in to my meetings tomorrow. We’ll open up the country house.”
The country house. Henry’s four-bedroom “cabin” in the small town of Fishing Lake, Pennsylvania. It’s a family home, owned by his parents and passed down. He grew up there, I think. I’ve only been there once, one fleeting weekend, in mosquito-laden July. All I remember is oppressive heat.
“Henry, I don’t know. Officer Yates might find something or need something . . .”
“Then we’ll come back. It’s only an hour and a half. Zoe, I’m worried about you. First the car, now this. I want to keep you safe.”
All I hear is I want to keep you.
I could fight him. I could. I would win. Henry doesn’t forbid me from anything ever. But I think back to what I’d said to Cash. I feel untethered. Because the truth is, the only person I have in the world is Henry. He is my root.
Slowly, I nod. “I’ll go pack.”
CHAPTER 11
The city recedes behind a curtain of fog while Henry’s fingers tap the steering wheel to the Rolling Stones. His arms are bare in a navy blue polo shirt tucked in to khaki shorts. He whistles along with the radio and every few minutes glances over and gives me a smile.
This is the Henry I fall in love with, again and again. He is relaxed, in his arrowroot Henry way. His blond hair is “vacation” messy. The day is warm for April and smells of summer, wet pavement, and popcorn, like a state fair. We have the windows cracked and I am happy. Well, I am mostly happy. I have the previous evening’s fight in my mind and I can’t turn it over. I keep thinking about Henry’s hands pushing down on my shoulders, his cold glare at Cash. His quick about-face.
I tried to say something later, in bed, telling him he worried me. He curled against my back murmuring apologies. His hands snaked up my midsection to cup my breast and I shrugged him off, blaming fatigue from the day. He pulled me against him until I felt like I could suffocate, his breath wet on my neck, my ear, and whispered “poor baby” again and again. I fell asleep, a deep dreamless coma, while he was still awake.